


Like Limbs and Hearts, Entwined

by SithHappens



Category: Actor RPF, RPF AU - Fandom, Sebastian Stan - Fandom, Sebastian Stan RPF
Genre: F/M, Fertility God AU, Fertility God Sebastian Stan, Sebastian Stan RPF AU sorta, enjoy, no one asked for this!, the many supernatural faces of Sebastian Stan, there will be blood - Freeform, there will be ridiculousness, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SithHappens/pseuds/SithHappens
Summary: When the woven birch crown appears in the Sacred Grove, the village elders know that The God of Field and Forest, The Lord of the Ancient Wood, has decided to take a Bride.  The most beautiful girl in the village, chosen by him and blessed with his grace, is to perform the marriage rites on the First Summer Moon, thus ensuring a bountiful harvest and continued prosperity for the community…  And you are so very certain and so very thankful that it could never be you!





	1. Prologue

Sitting with the other girls, listening to a village elder regale the group with tales of The Lord of Nature, the God of Field and Forest, you wished you could be just about any place else.  The quiet spot on the river you discovered seemed to call you on the warm summer day.  Or perhaps the meadow beyond your family’s little farm, littered with wildflowers before reaching the deep, ancient wood.  It just seemed ridiculous to be hearing these legends of wild things instead of being out there experiencing them.  You were only there now because your parents said a girl your age ought to be interested in these sorts of things, learning the ins and outs of the rituals your village held.  In truth, they had been interesting… the first several times you’d heard them in your eleven short years of life.  And as you had no intention of ever being a part of any of the rituals, aside from providing for the offerings as was required, you weren’t exactly sure why you had to keep hearing about them.

“It was only a few years before many of you were born that the last bride was called to him,” the woman informed with a knowing look.  It was the fifth time you’d heard the story this week alone and you weren’t paying much attention now, instead distracted by the occasional dull pain you kept feeling low in your stomach.  “On the First Summer Moon, just like today, the most beautiful girl in the village, blessed by his grace, was adorned in all her finery and brought to the Sacred Grove, where she donned the Wedding Crown and performed the marriage rites.  Every generation or so, a new bride is chosen.  One of you may very well be next!”

You heard a tittering of laughter from a few of the girls off to your right, namely Ilona and her two friends.  She was quite popular among your peers; daughter of the oldest, most well-off family in the village, pretty, and showing early signs of womanhood.  Undoubtedly, if a bride was called one day, it would be her.  All well and good as far as you were concerned.  Though, you couldn’t help being annoyed with the haughtiness on her face.

“And then what happens,” you questioned aloud, before you even realized what you were doing.

Everyone quieted as the elder cast you a confused look.  “Pardon, dear?”

“After the marriage rites,” you powered on, noting the murderous look Ilona was shooting at you.  “What happens to her then?”

“Well,” the woman smiled kindly.  “Then she goes into the woods with her new husband and in turn he grants us a bountiful harvest to see us through the winter.”

You nodded thoughtfully.  “So, she’s an offering, just like the fruits and vegetables and meat at every other moon.  To be ripped up and eaten just the same.”

There was no disguising your glee when the woman’s mouth dropped open in shock and a few of the other girls gasped.  You had your own smug smirk for Ilona then, whose fair face had turned bright red at the not-so-subtle jab at her expense.

“The disrespect!” the elder managed to fume after a moment.  “You know very well that his Bride is sacred!  Do you want to offend him?  Bring his wrath down upon you and your family for your insolence?”

“No, ma’am,” you shook your head, somewhat cowed by her scolding.

The woman took a deep breath, steadying herself, before she spoke again.  “I think it’s best you go now, child.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  You knew better than to push your luck too much with one of the elders.  So, you stood from your seat on the felled tree trunk and brushed the dust from your dress.

“Perhaps we all should retire for the afternoon,” the woman’s voice rang a bit kinder, though her face was no less severe when you looked up at her once more.  “You can all rest before the festivities tonight.”

An excited chatter erupted among the rest of the girls, but you didn’t care to join them.  You were much more interested in making your way home, skirting the edge of the woods preferably.  That way you could avoid any other villagers and hopefully put off the stern lecture from your mother for your behavior as long as possible.  It didn’t hurt that the shade from the towering trees was just right that time of day, providing a cool path to walk along.

Of course, it was just your luck that on the way you would run into a few of the village boys crowded around the base of a tree, gawking at something.  They hadn’t noticed you yet, so you quietly crept up to see what had captured their attention so fully.  As you drew closer, you began to make out the tiny, incessant chirping of a baby bird.

“Maybe we should just leave it be,” one of the younger boys said as he scratched at the back of his head.

“No, I know what we should do,” the oldest, Thomas, crowed proudly.  “There’s a snake hole not too far from here.  We could take it there and watch what happens.”

That was more than you could stand for and with an angry scoff, you shoved your way through the little group with as much force as you had, scooping up the small creature in your hands and turning to glare at them.  “What a cruel thing you are, Thomas!  The snake can find its own food and doesn’t need any help from you!”

“It’s going to die anyways,” Thomas countered angrily, the other boys a chorus of agreement.  “And who do you think you are, pushing me?”

“She’s a jealous cow, is what she is,” came the bright, taunting voice of Ilona, who must have seen what was happening from the village and come running with a few other girls in tow.  “A fat, ugly, jealous cow that rolls around in her own dung from the look of her.”

The insult had you seething.  Yes, you were plumper than the rest of the girls, and you were often dirty as you had no brothers, no other siblings at all, and thus had to help with the animals and in the garden, while the prissy Ilona never had to lift a finger in her father’s house, her sole purpose in life to look pretty and be agreeable so she might fetch a good husband.  But it still hurt to be laughed at by most of the other children.  Gritting your teeth in anger, and against the aching wave that rolled through your gut again, you cupped the little bird protectively.  “Better a cow than a vicious cur and his mongrel bitch!”

To your surprise, a few of the others sputtered out poorly concealed chuckles, though they were quickly glared down by both Thomas and Ilona.  The latter of the two turned a nasty glare your way.  “You will not be so impudent when the Lord of the Forest chooses _me_ to be his bride one day!”

“Oh, he can have you,” you railed back.  “I hope he takes you so deep into the ancient wood none of us will ever have to look upon your arrogant face again.”

Ilona went red again, her delicate features screwed up tight in rage.  Apparently, she had no retort at the moment because all she did was stamp her dainty foot and shriek “ _I HATE YOU!_ ”

With that, she turned heel and blustered her way back toward the village, a few of the others trailing behind her.  Having quickly lost interest in the baby bird, even the boys followed.  Though not before Thomas gave you a dirty sneer.  Your response was to stick out your tongue at him as he turned to head off.  One of the children, quiet little Alva who was only a few months your junior, still remained, looking curiously from your face to your cupped hands.  She was a rather shy girl who you had not been particularly close with, but she had never been unkind nor laughed at you with the others, even today.

“It’s a little bird,” you told her, opening up your hands so she could see.  “Thomas and those other boys were going to drop it down a snake hole.”

Alva’s eyes widened in shock.  “That’s awful!”

You nodded in agreement, inspecting the small, featherless thing as it began its hungry peeping again now that it could see daylight.  “It’s too young to be on its own.  It must have fallen out of its nest.”

Craning your neck, you surveyed the tree above you and spied a mess of hay and and twigs sitting in the crux of some branches.  You tucked the bird away in one of your dress pockets, hearing it quiet down once more in the darkness, and jumped to reach a low sturdy branch to haul yourself up.

“What are you doing,” Alva asked with a bit of panic in her voice.

“I’m gonna put him back in his nest,” you explained, taking a moment to pick out the next hold to take yourself up.

The explanation didn’t seem enough for the other girl, who sounded even more incredulous.  “You’re gonna climb all the way up there?”

“Yeah,” you laughed as you spared her a glance when you were safely settled another branch up.  “Haven’t you climbed a tree before?”

Alva shook her head timidly, which made you smile wider.  “I’ll teach you later, Alva.  But I’ve got to get him home before mama bird finds him missing!”

When no further protest was made, you continued up to the next limb where the nest sat.  You straddled the branch to steady yourself as you shimmied closer to the tangle of twigs.  Another baby bird, the same size as your tiny ward, was wildly chirping away inside.  The sound was soon doubled as you took the one from your pocket and sat it gently beside its sibling.  You took a few moments to watch them both, making sure they wouldn’t try to push each other out, and smiled as they huddled together to start peeping almost in unison.

The loud rustling of underbrush not far into the woods startled you.  Fearing the return of the village boys, you hunkered low to the tree branch and looked in the direction the noise had come from.  Boy there was, indeed, but not any you had ever seen before.  He couldn’t have been much older than you, with a mop of dark hair and a cleft to his chin.  The rest of him was hidden behind the trunk of a large oak tree as he peered up at you curiously, a little smirk playing at his lips.  Yet, his eyes widened in surprise when he seemed to realize you had caught sight of him.  You were about to call out to him when another pain rolled its way through your stomach, this time much sharper, and you doubled over a bit on your perch.

“Are you alright,” Alva called from below, the worry evident in her voice.

“I’m fine,” you ground out, clutching an arm around your waist as you waited for the aching to subside.

“You’re bleeding!”

Confused, you looked down at Alva, who was gesturing frantically up at you.  You were certain there were no cuts or scrapes to your skin as you climbed, no pain aside from the ones you’d been feeling deep in your belly all day.  But just the same, a dark red spot was seeping through the fabric of your skirt where it had bunched between your thighs and you registered a warm stickiness on the skin beneath.  A bit dazed, you chanced a look back where the boy had been watching you, only to find him gone.


	2. The Crown and the Lamb

The last snow had not yet melted when the First Spring Moon was upon the village.  The sky was still low and grey, but signs of renewed life began to creep back into the world.  Tufts of grass here, the fluttering of a bird there, livestock beginning to birth.  As was the ancient custom, the village Elders made their way to the Sacred Grove to thank The Lord of Nature for seeing them through the harsh winter.  Offerings of preserved meats and produce were to be left for him, along with evergreen sprigs.  A reminder that his time had come again and to beg favor for the coming season. Yet when the small group of men and women reached their destination, arms laden with gifts collected from every family, they were shocked to discover something already sitting upon the oak stump altar.  

The Woven Birch Crown, with its traditional ivy and myrtle, but accented with lilac and blue hyacinth, the blooms a colorful addition unique to this proposal.

The God of Field and Forest was calling forth a Bride.  And it was the Elders’ duty to read the signs throughout the season and prepare his Chosen to be wed at the First Summer Moon.

—

You sat in the quiet barn, silence punctuated only by an occasional bleat, and anxiously watched the ewe lying in the hay beside you.  It was the first lamb of the season, this sheep’s first offspring altogether, and you were glad the Elders had come collecting before she’d begun the birthing process.  They would have insisted upon taking the spring lamb as an offering otherwise.  It was only an hour after they left that morning that the ewe made her way to a secluded spot.  Since then, you’d stayed by her side, your mother seeing to the rest of the tiny flock.  

The birth had started out as naturally as any of the other dozens you’d attended over your twenty-some years, both on your land and others.  She’d separated herself from the rest of the flock when her plug slipped out and the bag of waters ruptured.  Visibly contracting, she lay on her side with her nose to the air.  But experience told you that after too long and no lamb, something was definitely wrong.

After fetching a basin of clean water, you carefully settled beside the ewe to check what was going on.  Normally, you should have been able to see two front hooves and a little lamb nose trying to force their way out.  Occasionally, it might be two back hooves or one hoof and a nose or any combination of the sort.  This time, however, much to your displeasure, there was only a head crowned, eyes closed and tongue hanging loose.  You had only seen it once before and that had not ended well.  Still, you couldn’t rightly sit there and do nothing.

You washed your hands and, whispering an apology to the sheep, gently tried pressing the head back in.  There was a bleat and a slight jerk of the mother, but with a little effort you achieved your goal and were then able to reach in and right the lamb’s legs.  It seemed no sooner had you done this than another contraction hit and the hooves and nose began to appear like normal.  There was some hope then, but you were taking no chances.  Grasping the little legs in one hand, you helped the ewe ease the lamb out of her womb and into the hay below.

The ewe was none the worse for wear, mouthing at the hay and going about expelling the afterbirth, but the lamb… Your heart sank deeper every second the creature lay still in your arms.  It was ridiculous, really, if you took even a moment to think about it.  Life and death went hand in hand, it was the way of things, and this was hardly the first stillborn animal you’d ever encountered.  But you did not allow yourself that moment, instead feeling sadness and anger trying to bubble up in your chest.  It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair!  The First Spring Moon was meant for life, the first lamb a hope for the season.  Not death, not a sacrifice, and certainly not an ill omen like the Elders might say.

“Please!  Oh, please, precious creature,” you breathed, raw and achy as you sniffled back tears.  You wrapped the lamb’s cool body in your skirt, not a care about the wet stickiness of it.  Your fingers cleared out its little nostrils and cradled it close as you began to rub the makeshift bundle vigorously.  “ _Please!_ ”

Your quiet sobs and frantic scrubbing seemed futile, your hands slowing as the tears began to spill over onto your cheeks.  For a few heartbeats, you sat there just the same, trying to gather yourself in the hay beside the ewe that had begun to clean away the evidence of its delivery.  A part of you wondered if she knew how desperately you’d tried to help, if she even knew what was going on at all.  Resigned to the injustice of it all, you were about to stand and try continuing on with the rest of your day when you felt it.

The stirring in your lap was so gentle at first, you thought it a fantasy.  A trick of the mind to only bring you more grief.  But you stilled and a moment later, the movement grew.  A squirming mass, a kicking hoof.  And, soon, a loud hungry bleat sounded, barely muffled by the fabric of your dress, that brought the ewe to sudden attention.  You cried harder now, the surprise and relief of your sob cracking what little reserve you had left.  After giving the lamb a delighted squeeze, you did the sensible thing of unwrapping it from your skirts.  Hysterical, wet laughter was all you could muster watching it stand on shaky, new legs to hobble toward its mother.  She accepted the wobbly thing graciously as it settled in to suckle, as though she’d expected it all along.

You remained there for a while longer, washing the birthing fluids from your hands as you watched the ewe and lamb rest after the trying ordeal.  The exhaustion deep in your bones felt this was quite a good idea for you as well.  Nestling down in the clean hay nearby, you let yourself stretch out and relax some.  Another relieved sigh escaped you as you closed your eyes and gave a silent thanks for the little life brought into the world that day.

Full sleep didn’t take you, but perhaps you dawdled too long and began to doze.  You were startled up from your resting place by the far off calling of your name.  At first, it sounded like a man’s voice.  Not your father’s or any of your neighbor’s either, but you were soon corrected when the call was repeated, much closer this time.  Clearly it was Alva, excited and in search of you.

“What is it, my friend,” you chuckled as you shot for the barn door to find her running across the pasture to you.

“Have you heard the news,” she practically squealed in glee, skidding to a stop in front of you to grip your arms tight.  A split second later, she pulled back slightly and her face fell as she took sight of the state you were in.  “What on earth…”

“A ewe went to lamb this morning.  I had to help her along.  Now, what is this news you’re so excited about,” you smiled with a fond shake of your head.

“Oh, yes!”  Alva bounced on her feet, still as sweet and exuberant as ever.  “The Elders returned from the Sacred Grove not too long ago and you’ll never believe what they found there!”

“Let me see.”  You tapped a finger on your chin in a show of thoughtfulness, looping elbows with your friend to usher her back toward your home.  “Was it all of our past offerings returned to the village?”

Your name sputtered out of Alva’s mouth in a scandalized laugh.  “No!  The Woven Birch Crown!  He’s decided to take a Bride.”

“Not nearly as interesting as far as I’m concerned,” you shrugged.  Then you gave a devious smirk.  “Though I’m sure Ilona was rather pleased to find out.”

“Not that old fight again,” Alva rolled her eyes and slapped feebly at your shoulder.  

“Who’s fighting,” you spoke innocently, but surrendered to her glare with a nod.  “Not really a fight.  Honestly, if The Lord of Nature has to take a bride, he could do far worse.  Perhaps we grate at each other still from time to time, but she is beautiful and graceful and agreeable when it pleases her.  And I’m certain nothing will please her more than to be rid of this village and a possible betrothal to some loathsome toad her father might choose for her soon.”

“My, how you have matured over the years,” your friend teased when you pulled her to a stop near your back door to grab a basket to collect eggs from the chickens.  “But you know Ilona doesn’t get to just decide she’s going to be his bride.  He’s the one that chooses the girl, with gifts and blessings.  It could be any one of us.  Me.   _You_.”

You couldn’t help your bark of laughter at that, even if there was a bitter twinge to it.  “ _Me?_  Unlikely.  What was it the last boy who tried courting me said?  Oh, yes.  I’m no prize heifer, let alone the bride of a god.”

Alva opened her mouth, a protest clear on her face, but you only waved her off with a smile.  “Besides, he would have his work cut out for himself, trying to woo me for a wife.  I’m told I’m quite the wild and ornery thing.  Much easier to go for someone a bit more willing, don’t you think?”

She only heaved a great sigh, shaking her head as she trailed behind you around the corner of the house.  The chicken coop lay not too far beyond, the small hens pecking around the blades of grass that had started poking through the snow, the rooster watching on proudly.  But Alva’s hand on your arm stayed you a moment.

“Oh look,” she breathed happily.  “Some flowers have come in.  And such beautiful colors, too!”

Curiously, you turned to see what she was talking about.  Her gesturing brought your attention to the swath of evergreen ivy that crawled beneath your bedroom window.  There amongst the vines a low blooming bush and several flowers had grown up without your noticing, flashing rather vibrant colors against the white and green.

“Strange,” you said aloud, drawing Alva’s confused look.  “Lilacs can sometimes bloom this early, but I’ve never seen blue hyacinth before mid Spring.  I’m not even sure how these got here.”

Alva hummed, considering.  “Maybe your mother planted them before winter came?”

“Must have,” you shrugged, though it wasn’t like your mother to plant anything without telling you about it.  “Ah, well.  Either way, the chickens and I will have a pretty view before everyone else.   Now, help me with the eggs, dear Alva!  We’ve had an abundance recently and I’d like to send some home with you.”


	3. A Gift of Early Spring

Soon after the ground began to thaw from the last snow, it was time to work on the season’s planting.  One cloudless early morning, your father set out on his daily chore of checking the traps he’d placed in the woods while you went about preparing the garden.  It was not a particularly easy task, but you had never shied away from hard work.  In fact, you were quite fond of this day of the year.  There was something about working the damp earth after a long cold winter, the promise of future harvest, the pride in a job well done.  It made the sweat and mucked up skirts and exhaustion at the end of the day worthwhile.

 

The sun shone warm, but the breeze was still delightfully cool on your sweaty brow as you broke up and turned the dirt in neat little rows, humming to yourself as you went.  Some of the last crop had frozen and thawed, rotting in its place, only to be tilled over to help feed its replacement.  A song still danced on your tongue, a smile on your lips, when you took to kneeling on the ground to begin planting.  You couldn’t deny the pleasure in the smell and feel of running your fingers through the dark, fertile soil.  Each seed was tucked away with whispered words of hope for it to grow strong and plentiful.

 

You were nearly halfway finished with your task when your happy humming was interrupted by a terrified shriek.  It could only have been your mother, who took up the duties of feeding the animals in your stead that day.  The image of the first spring lamb flashed through your head, and fearing the worst, you jumped up from your spot and bound over the unplanted rows toward your mother’s voice.  Silently, you pleaded that nothing might have happened to the little creature, or any of the others.  Nature was capricious and it had crossed your mind several times since the birth that it might up and take the lamb anyway, after all your effort.  But as you approached your mother, wildly swinging a stick in front of herself with a disgusted look on her face, you saw that all the sheep were lively and watching her with great curiosity.

 

“Mother, what is it,” you asked as you drew closer, concerned at her strange behavior.

 

She barely turned in your way, dividing her attention between you and whatever she was shaking the stick at.  “That… that _thing_ jumped out and tried to attack me!”

 

Now, your mother was no stranger to the outside world.  She’d been the wife of a farmer and trapper for many years, and before that the daughter of a hunter, and was well versed in assisting either in their day-to-day activities, but that was hardly her domain of choice.   Her quite formidable strengths lay in the home; cooking an array of different plants and animals, preserving foods, baking, cleaning pelts… all things one might traditionally consider the feminine arts which she’d found a small modicum of success in passing along to you, her only daughter.  Still, though you knew she did not share your deep and abiding love for dirty work or creatures great and small, you could not hold back your fit of stunned laughter when you followed the tip of her makeshift defense and spied exactly what had shaken her so.

 

There, half-hidden among a tuft of long, bright green grass, sat coiled a snake, head raised and watchful of the branch in your mother’s hand.  You almost imagined it had just as fearful and disgusted an expression as she did.

 

“Mother,” you chided fondly, reaching to take the stick from her.  “It’s only a garden snake.  It couldn’t do you any harm.”

 

She resisted giving up her weapon, glaring at the animal in contempt, but eventually relented as you placed yourself between the two and gently guided your mother away.  “It tried to bite me.”

 

“You must have startled it, then” you replied.  “And even if it had, it would not have hurt you much at all.  A tiny pinch perhaps.  Go back to tending the animals.”

 

“Are you going to get rid of it?”  She tried looking over your shoulder, as though worried it might sneak up and attack you both.

 

With a laughing huff, you propped your fists on your hips.  “I should think not!  That snake may very well keep our garden free of pests this season.  You should be welcoming him.”

 

“Oooh,” she shuddered, but her face softened as she looked at you again.  “Sometimes I worry about you, child.  But you are nothing if not wise in the way of these things more often than not.  I just hope to never cross paths with it or its ilk again!”

 

This last bit was thrown around you as a warning to the creature and you shook your head with a smile.  When she was finally distracted with her work, you turned back to find the snake still huddled in its place.  It was silly, you knew, but you were in such high spirits that you found yourself crouching down in front of the frightened thing, several feet away.

 

“You’re rather early this year, Sir Hiss, but welcome to our garden,” you chuckled.  “You’ll have no more trouble from my mother, I’m sure.  Mind the other animals, though.  They are not too fond of snakes, especially the rooster.  But eat your fill and stay as long as you like.”

 

The snake’s only response was the slow flickering of its tongue tasting the air.  Not that you expected any sort of gracious thanks from it.  Instead, you ducked your head in a cheery goodbye before heading back to pick up with your planting.  It was smooth going, much easier to sow the seeds than turn the soil, the bawdy humor in that not lost on you.  You were nearing the end of the very last row when something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.

 

Looking over, you saw a gentle rippling in the grass growing closer and closer until you could make out the form of the little snake as it approached.  All you could do a moment was smile curiously as you watched it make its way right up to the edge of your hand, still buried in the dirt.  It paused there and you expected it to take the safe route around you to the grass on the other side, but to your surprise, it wove its head and body between your fingers, tail curling around your wrist.  Probably seeking the warmth of your skin, you surmised.  Though you couldn’t help being delighted at the little display.

 

“Come to survey my work, Sir Hiss,” you questioned, lifting the snake to get a good look at it.  “I think we’ll have a decent harvest this year, provided you keep to your end of the deal and stave off any pests that might foil our plans.”

 

Squirming in your grasp, the creature turned its head to face you.  It stared at you a moment before its tiny forked tongue flickered out and just barely brushed over the tip of your nose.  You blinked, a bit startled.  There had seemed something almost… almost _playful_ in the act.  But no, that was impossible.  Just your wild imagination.  Shaking your head, you laughed at your own silliness and made a few puckering kisses in the snake’s direction as you sat it in the grass.  The animal unwound from your hand and went on its merry way.

 

It was late afternoon by the time your father made his way home, lumbering through the meadow with a surprising number of rabbits, squirrels, and small animals of all sorts trussed and thrown over his shoulder.  All his traps had been full and there was no disguising just how pleased he was with himself and his haul.  And a fine collection it was, too.  While all three of you set about cleaning and skinning each carcass, it was clear that all the little creatures had been quite healthy, their fur still lush from the winter and hardly matted at all.

 

“These pelts shall be fit for a king once they’re finished,” your father exclaimed proudly, running his fingers over a squirrel’s fluffed tail.

 

“Or a queen,” your mother mused as she prepared supper.  She raised an eyebrow at him over her small work table.  “Perhaps one that is to be wed on the First Summer Moon?”

 

From your spot near the back window, you rolled your eyes at the subject, which Alva assured you had been pervading every aspect of life in and around the village.  But your father gave an affectionate chuckle at your mother’s words.  “So clever, my dear.  They should be plenty ready for the Mid Spring Festival.  I’m sure many a girl will be willing to spend a few coins to look her best for the Elders, try to convince them that they’re the King of the Woods’ chosen bride.”

 

“From what I’ve heard,” your mother began conspiratorially.  You had to a suppress your amused snort, knowing her penchant for gossip with the neighboring farmwives and her occasional walks into the village.  “The Elders are up to their ears in young women and the things they keep putting forth as signs.  Each one is convinced that they are to be his wife.”

 

“As are their parents, I’m quite sure,” you murmured under your breath while brushing at the fur in your hand.

 

The sass did not go unnoticed by your mother, who shot you a small glare.  “No one can fault a mother or father for thinking their daughter worthy of such an honor.  Why, I’d parade you in front of the Elders as a contender myself if I thought you’d let me.”

 

“Our daughter is not some silly girl prone to flights of fancy,” your father chimed in before you could even open your mouth to respond.  “She’s a free spirit with a good head on her shoulders, more than worthy enough for man or god.  She can decide for herself if there are signs or blessings or such without any prodding from you, my dear wife.”

 

A great, if somewhat annoyed sigh left your mother at that, her eyes turning to you.  “Well, has there been any, child?  Anything at all?”

 

“Not unless a quick and easy Spring for the whole village is a sign meant just for me,” you chuckled.  “Besides, it is well known that the God of Field and Forest chooses the most beautiful and devoted of his followers to be his bride.  And the whole of the village knows exactly who that is.”

 

“Pretty Ilona may be, but there are more things to beauty, my darling,” you father retorted.  “And more to devotion than her father making her the center of attention at every celebration.”

 

Your mother nodded in agreement as she tended the pot on the cooking fire.  “Besides, there’s more to it than that.  He’s meant to send tokens of his affection, blessings of nature.  Plenty of the other girls have perfectly reasonable claim.  I heard that Marta rode a new mare for the first time without being thrown.  A natural hand for animals could be a sign.”

 

You scoffed slightly under your breath, moving on to the next fur pelt to brush.  As if anyone would trust Marta with a temperamental horse that needed breaking.  She was just a whisp of a girl, the mare probably didn’t even know it had a rider that day.  Your mother continued on while she cooked, naming some of the young women and why they could be the one chosen.  There was Eve, whose cow began producing extra milk (though you knew the cow and suspected a calf was on its way soon.)  A number of blackbirds perched on a tree in Katrin’s yard the day of the First Spring Moon (the number was 10, to be precise.)  And Myrtle’s name alone meant something as it was a traditional part of the Woven Birch Crown (because that couldn’t possibly be the point of her naming to begin with.)

 

There were a few more, but you lost interest after awhile.  Your attention turned out the window as you brushed gently at each pelt, making sure the fur was laying well.  Night was fast approaching and the air was growing cooler.  Hopefully not another freeze, you’d hate for all your hard work that day to go to waste.  Plus, Sir Hiss would not fare well caught out in the cold.  There was movement in the long shadows cast across the meadow near the woods that drew your eye.  From what you could make out at a distance, a few deer were starting to emerge from the treeline.  At least, there seemed to be a stag, cutting a rather majestic outline in the dying light.

 

“Do you know what I think?”  Your father’s voice boomed merrily, starling you and drawing your eyes to him.  It took a moment to realize your mother had stopped talking, her brow knit in fond exasperation as she shook her head at you when your gazes met.  “I think with all these girls vying for a chance to be the Bride, then we’re sure to sell many of these fine pelts.  And if the animals are good to us and the crops plentiful, we might be able to make a fair bit for ourselves.  What do you say to that, my loves?”

 

“I wouldn’t mind a new dress,” you muttered quietly, fingers slipping over the small mends and stains in the lap of your skirt.  The few you owned were worn and a bit tattered, and, to your chagrin, a little tight at the seams in some places as you’d had them for a few years.  But you immediately regretted such a selfish thought.  There were much less frivolous things to spend extra coin on around your home.  You’d only end up dirty and looking ashambles again soon, anyway.  No sense on wasting money on fine things for yourself.

 

The evening went on quiet and cozy, you and your parents feasting well on your father’s catch and the bread your mother made.  You were grateful for the little luxuries of a full stomach and a well-earned stretch in your muscles from a day’s good work.  Both saw you off to sleep contently with the light of the waning moon.

 

Early the next morning, you awoke to a cool breeze carrying in the sweet, fragrant scent of lilac through your window.   You laid in bed a few moments longer, just enjoying it and the slight damp of the air and the soft light that fell across the floor.  Yet the rooster’s crow pulled you from your lazy daze and onto your feet.  Smiling, you popped over to the open window and stuck your head out when he called again.

 

“Yes, I’ve heard you.  Good morning,” you chuckled.  “I’ll see to you and your ladies soon enough.”

  
Quickly gathering yourself to begin your chores, you headed outside.  You were making your way around to the coop, the dew in the grass wetting your skirt hem, when you paused to survey your work from the day before.  No sign of frost, much to your relief, but it seemed little shoots of green were already trying to peek through the dirt.  Probably early starts from the old crops that made it through the winter.  And you must have had visitors during the night, judging by the deer print stamped in the dark earth.  Hopefully they wouldn't return to trample or eat any of the growing shoots.  Sir Hiss would be no match for a few hungry deer.


	4. Mother and Child

Going to the village for any reason was by far one of your least favorite things.  Usually it was something your mother did, but whenever she or your father were unable to go, the duty fell to you.  It wasn’t always that way.  When you were younger, a small child, the idea of seeing all your neighbors and the other children was a bit of a treat.  Of course, that stopped being the case as you grew up and, slowly, where you had once felt excitement about interacting with your peers, there was now only dread.  You did not fit in well, for good or ill, and some of them were often keen on reminding you of that.

 

Yet, when you were called upon to go in your mother’s stead, this time because the change in season brought an ache to her worn joints and a stuffiness to her nose, you made no complaints about seeing to the task at hand.  At least, not outwardly… to people.  The sheep and chickens may have heard a word or two about it.  Despite your general displeasure, you decided to make the best out of it.  You even took a few extra minutes to comb out your hair before plaiting it, adorned with a few clippings from your ever-growing lilac bush in hopes of distracting from your less-than-presentable attire.  And as you packed a large basket full of the things you needed to trade, plus some special extras, you reasoned that there were still a _few_ good parts you could look forward to from the trip.

 

For a start, you couldn’t deny that the journey itself was lovely on that brisk spring day.  The sky was vibrant blue with scarce clouds to hide the sun.  All manner of blooms had begun to pepper color across the lush green grass coming in.  Everything was teeming with life; from the fields to the trees to the little pond you passed.  A few stray grains might have fallen to the ground on your way around the bank, completely accidental of course, earning you two or three travel companions waddling and quacking behind you for several yards.

 

The other aspect that never failed to bring a moment’s brightness to your task greeted you almost as soon as you were within earshot of the village with an excited “Look!  It’s her!  She’s here!”

 

A wide grin spread your face at the small gaggle of young ones rushing to greet you.  It was a tradition you’d come to be known for the last few years.  When you came to town, you always brought treats and you always shared.  It started with just one or two, but had quickly grown to include most of the children in the village.  This time, your joyful, smiley welcoming committee ranged in age from around six years old to eleven or so, about the time when the little sweethearts began outgrowing childish things.

 

“What’s this then?”  You feigned shock when the little ones crowded around you in a symphony of happy chatter and quick hugs.  “A pack of mad dogs, come to attack a weary traveller?”

 

To your utter delight, many of the children started barking and growling while the others giggled.  You couldn’t help but laugh yourself, even if a few of the adult villagers were casting odd looks your way.  “Oh no.  Not dogs, but goats!  A herd of goats ready to eat absolutely anything.”

 

At this, almost all them gave their best impression of a goat call.  Two of the smallest even managed to headbutt you in the thigh as you continued into the village.

 

  
“Geese?”  Your question was met with loud honks and one boy attempted a waddle that had the whole group doubling over.

 

“No, I know exactly what you all are.  A swarm of busy little bees,” you announced, chuckling when they all started buzzing and pretended to flutter around.  Yet their attention was immediately drawn to your hand when it slipped under the cloth cover of the basket.  “And you’re all here… for… _honeycakes_!”

 

A few of the children practically squealed when you produced the soft, sweet little cakes, made from some of the last of your family’s winter wheat.  You’d worked on them all the day before, with some guidance from your mother.  Tiny hands opened up all around you, some a bit more eager than others with a bounce on their small feet.  Luckily, there was enough to fill each palm and a few leftover for a snack on the journey home.

 

Grinning around full mouths and sticky fingers, most of the little ones began to ebb away from you, back to whatever chores they’d left in favor of a moment’s fun and a treat to fill their tummies.  Seeing them so happy and playful brought a bittersweet ache to your chest.  As much as you loved bringing joy to all the village children whenever you could, you lamented the fact that you’d probably never have a family of your own.  You weren’t rich or beautiful or even agreeable for the most part, so your prospects for a husband were practically nil.  Especially after the last of only a few boys to come courting you.  One you’d been intimate with and foolishly tried to submit to his expectations only for him to pass you up for a pretty girl from a town far on the other side of the old forest.

 

A small voice saying your name pulled your attention from your sad thoughts.  One of the girls still stood beside you, looking up at you expectantly.  You smoothed a hand over her hair with a gentle smile and guided her along beside you as you continued down the pathway.  “Why, Magda, my dear, how are you today?”

 

“I’m good.  I lost two teeth.  See?”  Magda opened her mouth to reveal a gap in the top middle of her smile.

 

“So I see,” you nodded kindly.  “What happened?  Did it hurt?”

 

“No, they were loose and I tripped when I was playing and they came out,” she explained as she kept up with your slow pace.  She took a bite of her honeycake before adding, “Mama had me throw them in the woods.  She said tree sprites and fairies might give us favors for them.  Have you ever seen any fairies or sprites when you’ve been in the woods?”

 

“I haven’t,” you replied honestly with a shake of your head.  You’d heard the same stories growing up, and though you were often quite irreverent toward the village’s traditions, you weren’t one to ruin the wonderment of a child.  “But I imagine creatures that old and magical would be hard to spot.”

 

Magda chewed her bite of cake, seeming to ponder what you said until her eyes shot up to you again.  “The flowers in your hair are pretty.  All the older girls are wearing lilacs and blue hyacinth in their hair for the King of the Forest, but yours smell the prettiest.”

 

The comment struck you as odd, though maybe the Elders deemed the early blooming a sign or some such nonsense.  Still, those were the two exact ones that popped up under your bedroom window unexpectedly.  And you never did figure out how they got there, since your mother denied any involvement…  You snorted at your own ridiculous thoughts before they travelled too far, smiling down at your small companion.  “Well thank you, Magda.  I’m glad you like them.”

 

“Are you here because you want to be his next wife,” she asked before stuffing the last of the treat into her mouth to puff up her cheeks in an adorable display.

 

You had to swallow the bark of laughter that threatened to burst out.  It would be too difficult to explain to the girl why her innocent question was so funny to you.  “No, dear.  We just had some crops come in early and needed to trade.  My mother wasn’t feeling well so I…”

 

Just then, there was a string of surprised shouts down an offshoot of the main path through the village.  With hardly a thought, you gripped Magda’s shoulder to shuffle her behind you as you turned toward the commotion.  You looked just in time to see that oaf Thomas barreling after something, in the wake of several villagers picking up dropped bags and righting pails and small tables of produce.  It wasn’t until a small blur of grey-brown darted over a shrieking woman carrying a bolt of fabric and across the back of a passing horse that you realized what was happening.  A squirrel must have gotten free from Thomas’s grasp and was running for its life, and the man was too stubborn and stupid to give up and make due without.  Of course, you weren’t expecting that streak of fur to dart directly for you.

 

You braced yourself, prepared for it to scrabble around you toward the woods, but instead it leapt onto your skirt. It all happened so fast that you barely had any time to react to the creature scurrying around your body like a tree trunk before burying itself in one of your deep pockets, tail twitching wildly until it disappeared.  Thomas had been delayed by the slow horse and its cart, so you cautioned a peek into the folds of fabric.  The little thing was trembling, balled up as deep as it could go, but it didn’t lash out or try running again.  It only looked at you and tucked its long tail tighter around its body. The act brought your attention to its swollen little belly and you gasped at the telltale roll of movement beneath the fur.

 

“Give me the squirrel,” Thomas’s voice boomed at you, huffing from the chase.  He held out a meaty hand expectantly.  “I know you've got it, now give it here!”

 

“I will not.”  You squared your shoulders, drawing up to your full height, and though not physically intimidating, it did not matter to your indignation.  “You should have let her go to start with.  She’s going to have a litter.  Even your fool eyes could see that!”

 

“You meddlesome cow!  Give me that squirrel or you’ll be the one I skin,” he growled in frustration.

 

The old childhood taunt at your size bit at you, but you refused to be intimidated by the likes of him.  “If you couldn’t keep hold of a wily squirrel, how could you possibly handle something with more fight?”

 

You stood still, not budging an inch even as he took a menacing step forward.  He was a head taller than you and broad in the chest, yet with an uncomfortable surety, you probably outweighed him still, with working muscle and quick reflexes beside.  More than you could say for him.   And more than a match if he meant to follow through on his threat.  Which it seemed likely he might try when he took another step, brows furrowed in anger.  Though the tense stare down between the two of you was interrupted by a familiar voice.

 

“Thomas,” Ilona called, pulling both your gazes to her.  Her fair face was set sternly as she approached arm-in-arm with Magda’s mother, one of her closest friends.  “Is what she says true?  Were you going to skin and eat a pregnant squirrel?”

 

Under the other woman’s scrutiny, Thomas seemed to find the decency to look sheepish.  “I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business.  I’ve got a right to eat.  So what if the thing was gonna give birth?”

 

“You can’t kill a wild animal that’s with child,” was Ilona’s scolding reply, stunning you with the idea she’d be on your side of the matter.  She let go of her friend to point an authoritative finger at Thomas.  “That is an affront to the God of Field and Forest and I won’t stand for it!”

 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the last remark.  Of course, it wasn’t decency’s sake she stood for, only the currying of favor to further her goal to be the Bride to some hidden, uncaring god.  Well, whatever the reason, at least it helped more than harmed.

 

“But what about my dinner,” Thomas countered, though he sounded defeated after Ilona’s reprimanding.

 

Pulling the cover from your basket, you fished around until you grabbed the chunk of meat you’d brought along for lunch.  “Here.  Cured rabbit loin.  A decent trade for a squirrel and you didn’t even have to prepare it.”

 

“There, you see?  The King of Nature provides for us,” Ilona beamed, expression managing to be both pious and prideful.

 

Thomas muttered something unintelligible, but probably rude before nodding and trudging off with the meat in hand.  You breathed a relieved sigh once he was halfway back down the path.  Yes, you might have been able to hold your own, but that didn’t mean you wanted to tussle with the brute.

 

“Thank you for stepping in,” you nodded to Ilona, though a bit begrudgingly.

 

She returned the nod with a magnanimous smile.  “It was good of you to trade what little you had for a creature in need.”

 

“Yes, well, I’ll be on about my day, then,” was your terse reply.  Even her attempt to compliment smacked of insult.  In truth, the rabbit was close to nothing compared to the bounty the season was already providing, you just weren’t about to get into a boasting competition with her of all people.

 

Before you turned to leave, you caught sight of Magda, who had been so quiet during the altercation you almost forgot she was there at all.  She was tugging on her mother’s skirt, trying to get her attention.  “Mama!  Mama!  I think she’s the King’s new bride!”

 

“Of course, dear,” her mother agreed, distracted as she clucked her tongue at the sticky mess the little girl’s hand left on her otherwise clean dress.  “We all think Ilona is sure to be chosen.”

 

“Not her,” Magda sighed with a shake of her head.  “ _Her_.”

 

Judging from the way her mother stilled when Magda’s finger pointed directly at you, she was as surprised as you were.  You didn’t even need to look at Ilona.  Her sharp inhale was enough to prove her shock.  When no one else said anything for a moment, the girl seemed eager to explain.

 

“Her basket is full of crops and pelts and cheese.  And there’s lilacs in her hair.  And she’s very kind to me and the other children,” Magda rambled that insistent way young ones sometimes do when they get overexcited.  “And… and, Mama, didn’t you see the squirrel!  It went right to her like it knew she’d help!  And she did!  It’s in her pocket right now!”

 

Your hand fell to the lump resting in your pocket.  The creature had stopped trembling, but you could feel the steady rise and fall of its breathing through the fabric.  It was rather strange.  The early bounty of the season was not unreasonable; nature could be fickle, but you were usually at least moderately successful every year.  Even Sir Hiss cozying up to you in the soil could be explained away as a snake’s desire for warmth.  But a skittish wild animal seeking you out for protection?  That was a bit more than you could reason at the moment.  Maybe… No. No, the idea was far too absurd.

 

Magda’s mother seemed to agree as she propped her fists on her hips, glancing between you and Ilona with nervous laughter before turning back to the girl.  “Now don't be silly, Magda.  We don't want to get the poor girl’s hopes up for nothing.  She’s always had a way with these things since she’s wild herself.  This is nothing special.  The Lord of Nature is looking for a Lady to court.  She hasn't even offered herself as an option.”

 

A seething resentfulness rose up in you.  Perhaps you weren't meant or inclined to be this chosen Bride, but to be spoken down to in such a manner; and as though you weren't even there!  You had half a mind to tear into the woman, but it wouldn't do to cause even more of a scene.  The disapproving stares of the other villagers weighed heavy on you even if you couldn't see them outright.

 

“But mama!”  Magda's huff of protest, mirroring her mother’s stance, was enough to calm your stormy mood a bit.

 

“Hush, child,” her mother replied sharply.  “It is the Elders’ duty to interpret the signs and decide who he has chosen, not you.”

 

When Magda’s pleading eyes turned your way, you offered up a smile before kneeling down to meet her eye to eye and gave an affectionate squeeze to her elbow.  “It’s very sweet of you to think, Magda, but your mother’s right.  The Elders read the signs and send the girl to him as a gift.  Besides, why would I want to marry an old man with moss for a beard who doesn’t even love me?”

 

Scrunching your nose in disgust made the girl giggle, her hand moving to cover up her gapped grin.  She nodded in understanding and you smoothed a hand down her hair before twerking her nose as you stood back up with your own chuckle.  However, the exchange did not seem to amuse her mother, who quickly grabbed Magda’s hand, giving you a disparaging look.

 

“Come along, Magda,” she said, though she was looking down her nose at you.  “We have chores to finish.”

 

With that, she turned and began tugging the child behind her, back to whatever task the mother had concocted.  But Magda managed to look back at you and wave her goodbye, still managing to keep up with her mother’s pace.  You waved in kind until the pair rounded a corner out of sight.  As you reached down to brush away the dirt you’d gotten on your dress from kneeling, there was a flutter of movement in your skirt.  To your delight, a tiny little squirrel head popped out from the fabric to look around curiously before disappearing once more.

 

“Don’t worry.  I’ve got you,” you whispered, pulling a few bits of grain from your basket to drop into your pocket.

 

Ilona’s still-present stare was palpable, but when you looked, you discovered her wide-eyed, mouth gaping slightly in shock as you stroked gently over the lump in your skirt, no doubt having seen the creature you had tucked away.  There was no hiding the small smirk threatening the corner of your lips.  Instead, to avoid any more possible confrontations, you only offered a polite bow of your head as you made your escape.  Of course, that didn’t keep you from chuckling happily to yourself as you headed for the miller’s stall in hopes of trading for more winter wheat flour.

 

The squirrel made no attempts to get away from you throughout the day.  No doubt due to the bits of food you kept pocketing for it.  Though it did surprise you that it never once tried to bite or scratch at your fingers and sometimes moved about your pocket freely instead of huddling deep.  You tried not to think of Magda’s words.  It was silly to dwell on; the innocent fancies of a young child who didn’t know any better.  Still, whenever you felt the rustle in your pocket, the idea tickled at the back of your mind.

 

Once your business in the village was finally completed, you were thankful to begin your journey home.  The sun was beginning to set as you carried your basket, laden with a good day’s trade and plenty of staples to see you through the next week or more.  Hopefully by then your mother would be feeling well enough make the next trip.  Although, there was one more task to take care of along your way.

 

You went as far as the pond before deciding to detour a few yards into the woods.  There you set down your basket and reached into your skirt to carefully pull out the squirrel with both hands.  She didn't fight your manhandling, only twisted her head about with her nose and whiskers twitching faintly.  You couldn't help your grin at the subtle squirm beneath your fingers where you gripped around her middle.

 

“Here you are, little mother,” you said gently, daring to press your cheek to the soft fur of her head.  She wiggled restlessly in your hands, probably sensing her impending freedom as you sat her on a low branch of a nearby tree.  “Off you go.”

 

The creature sat perfectly still a few heartbeats before taking a few cautious steps toward the tree trunk.  Then, she was darting off at lightning speed.  You tried watching after her for a bit, a blur of dark brown amongst the green foliage.  She wound down another tree and disappeared into a ground level bush.

 

A dark figure just beyond caught your eye.  At first, you thought it might have been a man in the woods, but the sight of retreating antlers in the brush told you otherwise.  Taking one last look around at the beauty surrounding you, you hefted the heavy basket to your hip and made your way back to the path home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been a year. probably not worth the wait, but late cake is better than no cake!

The forest was as vast as it was ancient; a looming sprawl of trees and brush as far as the eye could see.  People told tales of fantastic creatures, great and small, of nightmares lurking in the darkness to scare children away from the treeline.  Even trappers, huntsmen, and the Elders themselves regarded the place with reverence and no small amount of fear. Reverence, you had aplenty, but fear? No.  There was no fear in your heart amongst the growth and wild things of the Old Wood. You had spent too much time exploring, hiding from the jeers of the other children in the one place they didn’t dare go, to not love it like a second home.

 

A spring rain had rolled in and stayed for a few days, nourishing the fields and helping the crops grow.  Rain itself never did deter you from going outside, but as your parents aged, the change in weather often brought an ache to their bones.  On those days, you worked harder still around your home to spare them too much pain. But now that the sun had returned to warm and dry the land a little, you were able to set out after your chores to enjoy the woods once again. 

 

Toting a small meal, a bit of good mead, and your fishing nets, you expertly picked your way through the trees and brush.  The hideaway spot on the water was your destination. You found it when you were young, on a day in late spring just before your first bleed as you explored further than you thought the Elders ever have.  It wasn’t a very big clearing, but quiet and surrounded by the towering trees of the forest. A few large flat rocks, worn down by time, lined either side of a slow-rolling stream, plentiful with fish and frogs.  A perfect place to relax and cool off while netting a few fish to salt and smoke for the winter.

 

Back then, the way had been marked by two young oaks, seeming to grow in tandem several yards apart.  You remembered thinking that passing between them was like going through a magic door to another world that only you could find, where no one else could follow.  Your own Sacred place that even the Elders didn’t know about. Of course, you knew that it was all just silliness, especially now that you were older and wiser. Yet, you couldn’t help the whimsical thrill that shot through you or the devious grin on your face when you still took the time to pass between the two oaks, more than a decade older now, with their limbs and roots tangled together.

 

The day was already growing warm once you made it to the water, the springtime sun directly overhead as you set up the fishing nets.  You never had enough netting to stretch the width of the stream, but over the years you’d found a spot between the bank and a cropping of rocks just peeking out of the current that was practically perfect for what little means you had.  It caught nowhere near the amount the fishermen brought to market every week, but you never went home empty handed either. Just enough over the season to store for your little family to see you through the winter.

 

With the nets set, there was little else for you to do but wait and enjoy the day.  An easy thing to do as you sat upon the rocky bank. You’d spirited away a few bits of cold pheasant and bread with some soft cheese besides.  It was a simple meal made fine by the gentle breeze and the sounds of nature, the sweet taste of last year’s mead heavy on your tongue. So heavy, in fact, it seemed to lighten your head alongside your heart.  That, coupled with the midday heat, soon had you feeling a bit flushed and stifled in your clothing. And the cool, bubbling stream provided the perfect solution.

 

Even with slightly numbed fingers, it only took a few moments to undress before you waded in downstream of your nets.  A content sigh escaped you at the gentle rush of the current licking its way up your legs until you were settled into the deepest part of the stream, the surface resting just above the swell of your hips.  Your cupped hands slipped under to splash the heated skin of your face with the refreshing water. It trickled its way back down your body, tiny rivulets along your chest, back, and shoulders. The soft spring breeze seemed to pluck at each little droplet and sent a delightful chill racing up your spine.

 

But you were startled from your bit of reverie by a sudden loud splash in the water near the bank.  On instinct, your eyes flew open and you made to cover yourself with your hands alone, afraid someone had finally stumbled upon you after all these years in the worst possible moment.  Except… all your wild gaze and pounding heart found there was a large, squat toad settling atop a rock at the water’s edge. It blinked at you once, twice, before its throat grew and it belted out a deep croak, as though meant to pacify you.

 

You gave a derisive snort at your own ridiculousness with a shake of your head.  Still, you could not help wagging a finger at the creature in mock reproach, other hand propped on your hip.  “You frightened me, you fiend. I had thought forest creatures a bit more polite, but I see even a deep-voiced thing like you is wont to peep given the opportunity.”

 

There was no response from the toad, of course.  Only a curious tilt of its head as it regarded you silently.  At this you laughed outright, a bit of that lost merriment returning to you at the quizzical look and the mead still in your belly.

 

“Go on then.  Look all you like, I suppose,” you waved him off with half a smirk, relaxing in the stream once more.  Your hands dipped in again to wet your already drying skin. “It’s not as though there is anyone else around to appreciate the view.”

 

Despite your lighthearted words, the tinge of sweet mead in your throat managed to grow bitter at the thought.  And you seemed to be talking as much to yourself as the toad when you spoke again. “No man has ever thought much of me.  And those few suitors I had quickly turned their attention on better prizes. Of course none of the villagers think I could be the Chosen Bride.  A normal man wouldn’t choose me, why would a god?”

 

Looking over to your wild companion offered neither insight nor solace.  Just the intent blank stare of a toad, surprisingly still sitting on the rock.  As good a listener as any you’d found so far in life, nearly rivaling Alva with her insistence that you were worth more than any poor village boy.  As if she would know, the darling girl. But she was not here and the creature was and it was easy to interpret his expected lack of response anyway your mead-muddled mind saw fit.

 

“Perhaps you are right, Croaker,” you huffed with a dizzying grin, splashing water in his direction.  For his part, the toad remained unbothered. Simply blinked heavily before adjusting himself on the rock.  “Why should I want to be a sacrifice to some old god, anyway? Be one of a score of young women paraded about for show.  I am better than cattle.”

 

Still, the toad did not answer.  But by this point you were beyond the silly need of a partner in conversation; instead ranting to yourself, fueled by your indignation and the mead still coursing through your veins as you sank into the water to wet your hair, to cool your burning head and hot face.  Upon standing, you tried wringing out your locks, catching your outline in the flowing stream that rippled about your hips. Curved and stout, arms and legs strong from tending the sheep and climbing trees, with a decently-fed softness from many a prosperous harvest.

 

“Perhaps I should be the Goddess of Earth, Air, and Water,” you muttered, chortling at the thought.  “Am I not as round and fertile as the earth? As playful as the wind? As wet as the running stream? With proper offering of course.”

 

You hiccuped a little giggle at that, flushing and covering your mouth with your hand.  Looking over, you found the toad slinking from his rock and into the grass, seeming to make his way toward the wood.  Just as well. You were nearly done with your soak anyway. The air shivered cool along your skin as you reached the bank once more, picking up your mead to soothe your somewhat parched mouth.

 

Wanting to dry some, you didn’t bother dressing just yet.  Only laid back on the blanket you had spread across the grass, sun-warmed and surprisingly comfortable.  Images danced in your head as you relaxed, impossible things that only lived in your dreams. Being beloved and revered by many.  Handsome young men vying for your favor; acting as silly as the village girls in their pursuit. A dark-haired dream of a suitor with strong hands who cared more about worshipping you than what status he could achieve.

 

Thanks in no small part to the mead in your belly, you soon found your fingers tracing your own skin at the thought of the imaginary man.  A broad-shouldered and sturdy sort of fellow, accustomed to manual labor, enough to make you feel practically dainty in the strength of his arms.  Yet still he would touch you delicately, like a precious thing meant to be treasured. Treated with the utmost care. The warm tingle between your thighs was undeniable by then, as your fingers traced the curve of a breast and down your ribs.  The wind itself seemed to pluck your nipples taut with a shudder up your spine while your hand drifted lower.

 

You were no stranger to such intimacies, mostly of your own devising.  The one partner you had was fleeting, interested in only his own pleasure.  Not this lover in your dreams, though. No, his eyes would alight in desire, in adoration, when you accepted him, making your pleasure his own.  Your fingers slid between your thighs, desperate to ease the ache growing there and finding yourself near as slick as the stream you lay beside. Imagined it was his fingers seeking out your core, taking care while pressing inside of you.  There was a spot in your depths that your former suitor had barely grazed upon, one you could not reach yourself no matter how desperate you were to find it once again. But this lover would surely reach it, reach all the deepest parts of you.  And he would pant breathless in your ear of his want to be your true husband, to plant his seed inside you until you swelled with his get…

 

The sudden, sharp crash of your release had you crying out, louder than expected.  It seemed to echo from the trees in a strange tone, but the pounding of your heart and your own gasps for breath muffled everything else for a few moments.  Sweat had begun to form again on your skin as you came to your senses. Yet there was no thought of slipping back into the water. Between the mead and your exertion, your limbs were much too heavy for that.  Instead, you allowed yourself to lie back once more, heartbeat growing calmer. Imagining the gentle touches of your imaginary suitor as you started to doze on your blanket.

 

An odd tickle at your nose is what eventually roused you.  You scrunched your face up, twisted your lips to try shaking it away; hardly keen on fully waking just yet.  This seemed to remedy the itch only a moment before it returned and you began to feel other faint tickles all around your awakening body.  When your eyes blinked open, you were stunned to see not the trees overhead, but a hodgepodge of jeweled colors bursting across your vision.  The jolt of shock that ran through you disturbed the colors, making them flutter, taking the itch at your nose along as well. It was only then you realized, with no small amount of wonderment, that it was a butterfly that had alighted upon the bridge of your nose, obscuring your vision with its beautiful wings.  The other little prickles its colorful brethren, taking off after their companion as it flew away.

 

Sitting up, you drew the blanket across your naked form and twisted to watch their path.  Each dainty little thing dancing off upon the breeze in a lazy formation. It was only then you realized you were not alone at the water’s edge.  Curled up some paces away from you lay the largest stag you’d ever seen. Its rack thick and expansive, fur a lustrous dark. You clasped a hand over your slackened mouth lest you startle the creature away.  But he seemed to hear you anyway, stirring slightly before his head popped up, one dark eye trained on you with a shake of his head.

 

The air around the little clearing of yours had all the makings of a dream; you almost wondered if you still slept.  Especially when the creature rose up on its hooves in a slow, deliberate motion only to step toward you instead of running away.  The closer the stag drew, the harder it seemed to breath; air catching in your throat as you stared wide-eyed. Without thinking, you found yourself rising to your own feet, though it did nothing to assuage the wild beating of your heart as you soon discovered the creature still out measured you by a few inches, antlers or no.  And the dreamy quality of the moment only intensified when the stag stopped just out of arm’s reach to give a majestic bow of his head, horns stretching out around you in a magnificent arc.

 

One hand still keeping the blanket secure around you, the other reached out with trembling fingers toward the creature.  You could not say what overcame you, but you sobbed out a laugh when he made no move to run away. Only allowed you to touch him gently, ears pricking up toward you before he raised his head once more.  Many times had you felt the hide of a stag or doe, unlucky in a hunter’s path. But this was different. He was alive and thrumming with something raw and powerful you could feel deep in your chest, that skittered across your skin like the little hairs that raise during a storm.

 

“Damn the Elders,” you murmured in a hushed tone, grinning wide as your fingers grazed from the stag’s flaring nostrils up to the base of his antlers, slow and reverent.  “You are the real King of the Forest, aren’t you?”

 

This seemed to make the stag huff, snorting hard enough it tickled the skin of your neck.  And you let out a startled yelp when he stepped in closer to nose and mouth your hair as though looking for a tuft of grass to eat.  That was enough to break some of the spell you were under, shrugging away from the curious creature with a gentle chide. “Careful. I am not for you to eat, Your Majesty.”

 

Your little rebuff was all it took for the stag to settle himself, though he bumped your jaw slightly with his nose.  Something about it seemed almost like an apology, even an affection. You could only laugh at your ridiculous imagination.  But all too quickly it seemed the moment was ending as the creature’s ears pricked up and away from you, hearing something far beyond what you could.  Yet, he did not dart away in fear. Instead, backing up several paces to turn with a great sweep of his horns and trotted toward the thick woods. A protest rose in your throat, as if you could call him to stay with you.  Or could follow him into the trees and never return again. The sound died in your throat as the stag disappeared from sight, leaving you stunned in the clearing you’d always pretended was magic, but never truly believed. Until now, perhaps.

 

It was the sound of splashing water that again pulled you back to the world around you.  A fish, no doubt, breaking the surface to snatch a mouthful before swimming off. Attempting to shake the daze from your head, you dressed quickly, stealing glances back at the treeline and wondering if you’d somehow imagined it all, yet knowing that couldn’t be possible.  It was an added shock when you retrieved your netting only to find a catch several times your usual. Large, meaty fish tangled in the fibers, more than your family would normally eat in a season. It was nearly more than you could haul out of the water on your own. 

 

At first, you told yourself it was all the rain.  Somehow that had brought so many more fish to your little hideaway.  A plentiful yield of bugs and worms and such for them to eat. And certainly the butterflies were only drinking the water from your skin instead of facing the perils of the stream’s current or the frogs that lay in wait.  And the stag…. The stag, massive and imposing, with its attention all on you. Your eyes found the spot once more, arms overflowing with a bounty you had no control over, and for the first time you allowed yourself to wonder, however fleeting, if this had been no coincidence at all.


End file.
